


Poisoned By The Past

by Leprechaun123



Series: IWSC - Season 3 [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: IWSC | The International Wizarding Schools Championship Writing Challenge, M/M, Poisoning, Possibly Unrequited Love, Protection Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:35:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29131143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leprechaun123/pseuds/Leprechaun123
Summary: Blaise views Neville as the love of his life and just as his mother taught him, he's finding out if those that surround Neville are worthy of his attentions.
Relationships: Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Neville Longbottom/Blaise Zabini, Neville Longbottom/Theodore Nott
Series: IWSC - Season 3 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122923
Kudos: 4
Collections: International Wizarding School Competition - Ilvermorny





	Poisoned By The Past

A glass clinked softly against the edge of a pipe. By a steady hand, it sat underneath the opening, and the drips dropped into the vial. Waiting until only the sound of splashes were audible, the pipe was blocked again, and the vial capped. The glass was dropped into the holder, the next picked up and the process repeated.

Blaise sighed happily. This was cathartic. Others would call it morbid, but for him—milking the flower of an Angel’s Trumpet, watching the deadly poison fill up the vials one by one—it was soothing. Methodically repetitive. It reminded him of his purpose in life. As his practised hand continued, he reflected on the times that this poison had been used before in his life.

As a child, he had seen his mother do this regularly, each time attempting to test the worthiness of those she had brought into her life. The one thing she loved the most needed to be protected. That was the lesson that all Zabini’s passed down from parent to child, for many generations.

This, however, is the first time that he would be using it himself. Although he was still a little uncertain, this was the moment that he had been waiting for.

Handling the slippery vial carefully, he placed it in a small velvet bag, tucking it into his pocket. Trudging up to his little cottage, Blaise prepared himself for the visitors he was due to have.

In an earlier Floo call, Neville had announced Theo as his boyfriend, and Neville had been adamant that they meet. It didn’t matter that Theo was one of Blaise’s school friends. Neville was trying to prove a point. The idea of seeing Neville on someone else’s arm sent a wave of red through him, but Blaise persevered.

The friendship that had formed in their final year had run over into their Post-Hogwarts life, and slowly, the pain of unrequited love had made its home in Blaise’s heart. Now he was forced to watch other people parade before him with his love. Even his so-called friends.

Once back in the house, Blaise busied himself with carefully putting the tea set. He waited for the sound of their arrival—the rush of the Floo.

Before long, the sound of laughter filled the small home as Theo recalled a story from work. Blaise chuckled politely at his guest before finally feeling a pause in the topic.

“Would anyone like some tea?” he asked, brushing off his trousers as he began to stand.

“Yes, please,” answered Theo.

Blaise nodded before turning to Neville, who was digging through his satchel. Finally, he pulled out a small plastic bag filled with a concoction of plants.

“Just in case you don’t have some of mine left,” Neville said, handing over the bag. Blaise rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“As if you’d drink anything else,” he scoffed.

Walking into the kitchen, he waved his wand to begin the process. Measuring out the tea into separate cups before doing Neville’s special blend, Blaise poured the water into the waiting cups. Placing the kettle down, he lifted the toxin vial from his pocket. Uncapping it, he hovered it over the tea meant for Theo.

His hand shook slightly as he contemplated dropping some in. Blaise shut his eyes as he argued with himself. A deep-barrelled laugh broke his moment of silence. With a sneer, he let a single drop of poison fall and stirred it quickly. All Zabinis knew that the potency of the poison meant only one drop was required.

“Let’s wait and see if you’re worthy,” he whispered.

Picking up the guests’ cups, Blaise returned to the living room and distributed the drinks before getting his own. Once again, the conversation flowed, and Blaise watched with an air of satisfaction as Theo drained every last drop from the cup.

Before he knew it, the “happy” couple took their leave. After seeing them off, Blaise settled into an armchair.

“Now, I wait.”

Blaise fell asleep, despite the nervous anticipation settling deep into his bones. As he slept, the day drifted into night.

Suddenly, Blaise was startled awake by the sound of the Floo.

“Blaise!” the panicked voice filled the small cottage.

Blaise rushed to the fireplace, his heart pounding, catching a glimpse of Neville’s terrified face in the flames.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, feigning concern.

Maybe he had been right. Theo hadn’t been worthy of him.

“It’s Theo.” Neville gasped, tears flooding down his cheeks. A flash of triumph darted through Blaise’s body. He _had_ been correct.

“He just collapsed when we got home. I flooed him to St. Mungo’s, but it was too late. His heart stopped. I don’t know what to do.” Neville broke down, his sobs shaking his body.

Blaise’s heart broke a little before he gathered himself together. This had all been for him. This was what he had been waiting for.

“I’ll be there soon. Don’t worry; I’ll stay by your side,” Blaise promised before switching off the call. He stood and slipped his hand into his pocket, fingertips fumbling for the small vial. Catching hold of it, he pulled it free of the linen and held it up to the light.

“Good job proving me right,” he said before he returned it to his pocket and grabbed a handful of Floo powder. With a shout and a throw, he was gone in a green flash.

It had taken six months for Neville to recover from the death of Theo. Blaise wanted to protect him at all costs. He had been there when Neville called, had stayed over, and witnessed the nightmares. He had built him back up to a level of living that allowed Neville to move on.

Unfortunately for Blaise, this put Neville back in a position where he began to date again. It began casually enough until he started to break dinner plans with Blaise for someone else. Hannah Abbot. The name that sent a sour taste into Blaise’s mouth.

After weeks of dating, Neville eventually asked Blaise to meet her. He wanted to introduce her to the man that had helped him recover. Blaise accepted, already holding resentment towards the young woman.

It was a cold, rainy spring day when the meeting finally happened. As soon as Hannah stepped over the threshold, Blaise knew he needed to remove her from Neville’s life. She would be no good for him.

She reminded him of one of his mother's short-lived paramours. The one that didn't last long enough for Blaise to learn his name.

Her high-pitched giggle and talons digging into Neville’s arm were only some of the reasons that she was clearly hurting him. With a tight smile, Blaise brought them tea—the special blend for Neville, normal for _her_ —he handed Hannah the cup with the toxic steam. With a steely gaze, Blaise watched as she delicately sipped the tea until finally, the empty cup rested in the saucer. Like before, Blaise knew that it was time to wait for the result of her worthiness.

After they left, Blaise sat back, setting the clock for when the call should come through. He watched the hands count the hours until the Floo started right on cue. With some short comforting words and a promise to stay again, Blaise dashed through the green to be by Neville’s side.

Somehow, in the second comforting of Neville—a comforting that lasted another five months—their friendship blossomed into something more. Blaise started to notice shy touches and shared dinners. But in every movement, lay a doubt. In every brush, there was a move away before the disappointment set in. Blaise began to shelter himself. He didn’t want to be the one to break Neville’s heart again.

And yet, eventually, Neville took a chance and then Blaise was finally where he had been waiting to be. Right by Neville’s side. Exactly where everyone else had tried to be but had been proven unworthy. Blaise relished this feeling, this position.

After weeks together, when Blaise knew that Neville was still sleeping, he made his way down to his hidden workshop, its mirrored exterior challenging the untrained eye. He slipped through the door, softly shutting it behind him and made his way to the wooden bench that laid along the back of the room.

Settling in the chair, Blaise stared at the vial propped on the bench. The agitated silver liquid tempted him, taunted him. It begged him to use it. Prove what Blaise already suspected. That Neville was worth the wait, and the pain, and the deaths.

Blaise picked up the vial and held it between his forefinger and thumb. He rotated his wrist, watching as the vial’s contents swirled harder. The poison seemed to attempt to jump from the bottle, looking as if it wanted to feel its power shine. It seemed to Blaise that it wished to feel what it wielded; as if it wanted to discover somebody’s worthiness.

And if that person happened to be Neville, well, that solved two birds with one stone. Or drop rather. Blaise pocketed the vial and took off back to the cottage, the building that seemed to shine in the sunlight.

Like every morning, Blaise set to work, making a cup of tea for Neville. He deposited Neville’s homemade blend into a cup followed by the water. While waiting for the diffusion to steep, Blaise lifted the bottle out of his pocket and uncapped it. With a hesitation, similar to his first time, he held it over the cup of tea.

“I’m sure you’re worth waiting for,” he whispered and allowed a drop to land in the steaming liquid. He stirred it in and then made his way up the stairs.

Tucked into the bed, still snoring slightly, lay Neville curled up on one side. Blaise rested the cup on the locker before brushing Neville’s fringe away and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Good morning, dear,” he whispered, causing Neville’s eyes to flutter open.

After another brief kiss, he placed the cup into his hands and then returned to his side of the bed. Picking up his book, he sat with Neville as he drank his tea. He watched instead of reading as Neville got ready for the day and disappeared to the garden, needing to be in the sunshine for a while.

Blaise pretended to read and waited with bated breath until finally, he worked up the courage to walk outside. The sunlight hit him as he opened the door and stepped into the brightness. He halted when he saw Neville kneeling amongst the plants and weeds, his hands working quickly to protect the small buds that were beginning to form. Gasping out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, Blaise stumbled out towards Neville. Landing beside him, Blaise pressed a kiss to his temple, encouraging a smile out of Neville before he began to help him with the gardening.

He was worth the wait. But it couldn’t hurt to make sure.

The days ran into each other, the drops continued. The testing seemed to prove that Neville was worthy. Every day, he took his drink of tea, seasoned with a drop of Blaise’s special addition. And there was no effect. He was as right as rain. Blaise couldn’t understand why.

Every day Neville seemed to do something that, as much as he loved him, caused Blaise to doubt the results of the worthiness test. Neville always left dishes lying about that Blaise had to clean. Neville never made the bed. His books were moved even though Neville knew they all had their place. Blaise wasn’t sure that Neville was living up to the standards that he had set for himself.

And then there was that bloody tea. It was the only thing that Neville drank, and he went almost insane if there was none in the cottage. After almost a full day of Neville being a bear because he learned they had used the last of the tea that morning, Blaise finally cracked.

“What is so special about that bloody tea that you can’t do without it?” he exploded.

“Nothing,” Neville said as he reverently opened a package, sighing happily as a new batch of the tea finally landed in his hand.

“Nothing? So, you’re being a bear for nothing?” Blaise exclaimed.

“It’s just a special blend,” Neville tried to explain.

Blaise shot him a suspicious glance. “What kind of special blend?” he asked slowly.

“It’s just a few plants to help in case I get into any bother,” Neville said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Like what?

“Like… dittany.”

“Dittany?” Blaise drawled out. “The healing herb.”

“Yes,” Neville said, smiling for the first time all day. He popped a kiss onto Blaise’s cheek as he passed him.

“Dittany,” Blaise mused, nodding slightly. “I wonder if that has any effect on Angel’s Trumpet.”

The next morning, Blaise was once again making tea. Once he let the first drop fall, he contemplated his theory and then plopped another drop in. After all, Neville had lasted this long so surely, one more couldn’t hurt.

After delivering the cup of tea and his kiss, Blaise forewent his morning reading, claiming to have some work to do. Quietly, he made his way down to his hideaway and fell into his chair.

Silently, he waited. He waited until he was certain time would have proved him right. If Neville was truly worthy, he’d be back at the house, waiting for Blaise’s return.

One bright summer’s morning six months later, Blaise went through the motions. He put the steeper, filled with the special tea, into the readied cup. He poured the hot, but not boiled, water over the combination of flavours. Waiting for three minutes before stirring, Blaise removed the steeper. After adding the drops of his poison, he picked up the cup and reverently made his way to where he knew Neville lay.

“Good morning, dear,” he whispered.

Running a weary, weathered hand across the edge of the rough, stone block, Blaise sighed. With a tip of his hand, the cup of tea emptied into the ground. The poisoned substance seeped into the soil, the brown patch in the sea of green growing wider with each drop.

“I did it all for you,” he continued in a low voice. “You weren’t meant to die. I was protecting you. I was waiting for you to need me. I was _willing_ to wait for you; you were meant to be worthy. I wanted you to be worthy. I made a mistake. I didn’t realise how much I needed you until it was too late. I’m so sorry.”

The tears began to fall on the soil. They continued until there was nothing left. Blaise wiped a hand across his stained cheeks.

With a heavy sigh coming from his rumbling chest, Blaise turned away from the grave of Neville and trudged slowly back up to the crumbling cottage. Blaise had spent his life protecting Neville from those that would cause harm. And now? Now he realised he had repeated his mother’s actions.

As his story came to a close, he realised that he was the villain all along.


End file.
